Death, without the possibility of parole
by Putscheschka
Summary: Set in an afterlife Oz, dead and newly-dead characters have to yet again struggle for their own safety, for their loved ones and for power. Co-written with Ellu Ellu from LJ. Warnings: Death, torture, noncon, body-horror
1. Chapter 1: Cyril O'Reily

**Chapter 1 The Execution of Cyril O'Reily**

The curtains open. Mom is there. Why is she crying? On the other side he sees the the chinks. Mom says that's not a nice word, but his big brother always call them that. He said Cyril can go back and live with him after his extra special session is done. He hopes it can really really be done this time. Maybe he can have a fluffer nutter after too. He will ask Aunt Bren to bring him some.

The guard pulls this black thing over his head. Cyril doesn't like the dark. And he can't breath and it smells funny. Something was not right. His big brother says everything is going to be okay after it's all over. But he lies to you all the time, says the voice inside. That voice would never lie. A terrible cry rips from his throat.

He doesn't realize it's his brother's name. It's too late for that anyway.


	2. Chapter 2: A Father

**Chapter 2. A Father Receives Justice**

His daughter is crying. The life must be really weighing on the poor girl. But what had to be had to be. "You see, my dear, they are not so different from us," he says, giving her hand a little pat. "Don't cry, Li Yu. It'll be okay."

"Oh Daddy," the girl sobs into his shoulder, "It's not that I'm sad. Its just that, I got dibs on that one! He should be mine to kill! They already fucked it up once. Why should they get another go at at?"

He can't decide if he should be proud or worried.

The lights switch back on. It's done.

Li Chen won't be back. But seeing his murderer dead is everything they can get now.

You have to deal with the cards you're given. He knows it better than most.

He watches Li Zhen drying her tears with a tissue before she puts an arm around her stoic looking mother in comfort. With Li Chen gone, the girl is a consolation. His wife might not see it yet, but he surely does. Li Zhen had everything Li Chen lacked in life. She'll be enough.

"I figured Fanny wouldn't show up", his wife says. He understands that something is broken, but he can't help to be annoyed. It's a topic that has been chewed through thoroughly before - but his wife just can't let it go. He looks over to Li Zhen. Do something, he almost pleads, silently. He is too tired to do it himself. And shoving that part of his responsibilities over to her is too comfortable.

"I'm sure she's mourning in her own way, Mother. Besides, Auntie really wanted to come and there were only five family members allowed. You know we couldn't just refuse Auntie's request."

He doubts that'll convince his stubborn An. But he trusts Li Zhen - she's been forming a bond with her youngest sister ever since Li Chen died. Li Zhen ought to know what's going on with the girl.

There is an almost unbearable silence between them. Everything that can be said has been said before - and all of them know it.

He sees the white-haired woman passing them by. The bastard's mother.

"I'm hungry. I want KFC," Li Yu's loud voice rings through the hallway. For a moment he wonders why she switched to English, then he sees the woman's posture stiff - a short stop, her head turning, shooting Li Yu an angry glance. Li Yu's wide, red lips are forming a grin - all teeth. She's enjoying this, he notes. Maybe a little too much.

"No, Li Yu, you will stop eating so much junk, I will make us dumplings when we get back," his wife scolds her, but adds in a softer voice she doesn't usually use with the girl "We can pick up some Bai Jiu on the way"

At this, Li Yu claps her hands and bounces excitedly. Like a small child at play. Somehow, though familiar with his princess' demeanor, it disturbs him. Just a moment ago they all smelled Cyril O'Reily shitting himself as he fried. Li Yu has a dog's sense of smell, no doubt she noticed it, too. In his line of business he's no stranger to people dying, but Li Yu seems too indifferent to it for a girl her age.

"Oooh, ooh, I want them with lots of meat filling! And we are out of Lao Gan Ma spicy sauce! Oh, and I still want KFC on the way, too!"

He sighs. The girl eats like a swarm of locusts. She could be a natural disaster all on her own.

"Sometimes, princess, a proper lady should have...more restraint," he says, but his voice does not sound as firm as he would like. He can't help it. Li Yu, with all her childish antics and her angry face that's cute in her very own way, is his favourite - it's too hard being strict with her.

He remembers seeing a KFC two hours from here in the small town - already knowing they'll be stopping by.

And judging by Li Yu's content, grinning face, she knows, too.


	3. Chapter 3: Hank Schillinger

**Chapter 3. Hank Schillinger Faces Punishment for his Crimes**

First thing he heard were voices. Rapid, foreign words, spoken by at least two males. Then another one.

"Get back to work, you damn slackers!"

A woman. Mom? No, no, of course not mom. Mom is no more. Hasn't been for a long time.

His eyelids feel heavy. He does not manage to open them at once.

Second try is more successful. He's in a room. The little light that there is stings in his eyes. He does not have the strength to get up, but he turns his head around. The weak light is coming from a few lambs on the ceiling, of whom most are out - it's partly reflected by the white sheets from the many beds around him, the white walls. Hank doesn't know this room. Is he in a hospital? Was he hurt?

He can't remember.

He sees someone walk through the room. He wants to ask them to stop - but he only manages to press out a creak. The person however seems to understand, comes closer.

Definitely not some hot nurse. "Oh, you are awake."

Hank nods. "Wonder where you are?"

Again, Hank can do nothing but nod.

"Well, welcome back to Oz. Hell's version of it at least. Not that it makes much of a difference."

Hank wants to tell him that he doesn't belong in Oz. But no sound comes out.

The person is gone again.

And soon, too tired to stay awake - he was gone, too.

* * *

The boy is trembling like a leaf, telling his sister over and over he is cold, even though his skin is getting hotter and hotter. The arm looks so black. No, no, don't die. That wasn't part of the plan.

The girl is next to him, holding her brother close. When he steps up to them, she looks up to him, frightened. The boy doesn't look anymore.

He needs a fix. More than anything he needs a fix. Hank looks down on his hands. They are black too. Rotting. Like little Gary's. He screams.

* * *

When he wakes up again, all lights are on. There is a man with dark hair on the other side of the room, making one of the white beds. He's dressed in light blue scrubs. So it is a hospital. He remembers having the strangest dream - of him waking up in hell. In an Oz in hell.

Hank is too tired to think about it.

* * *

He is sitting there, in a small cabin in the woods, when he hears them. He hasn't had a shot in a long time - this is what dying must feel like, he thinks. He's too tired to run.

Two men enter the cabin. One's short - he looks like that typical Italian gangster - or like a pizza-baker. The other is rather pale with an ugly scar on his head. They don't address him, just talk in a language that is definitely not American, then the short one pulls out a picture. A quick glance to him, then to the picture, back to him.

Then the one with the scar steps forward and drags Hank out, into the woods. They only walk a few feet, then Hank sees, from the corner of an eye, how the short one pulls a gun.

It's over so quickly, Hank couldn't even shout, let alone realize what happened.

* * *

First thing Hank does when he wakes up is raise his hands. Far up, until he can study his arms length. White. No trace of the holes and scars the needles had left.

How long has he been in this place? What happened?

Did those guys wound him? But how did he get to the hospital then, when he was in the middle of nowhere?

Not wanting to be found. After that thing with the kid. Don't think about it. Wasn't your fault. Couldn't have been.

"Ah, you are awake again. How's it going, kiddo?" A face moves into his line of sight. Looks like a spic.

"Who you calling kiddo? You can't be older than me, spic."

He laughs. "I take it you are fine then."

"Where am I? How did I get here?"

"Well, I wasn't there when you arrived, but I heard you got chopped up into pieces and were put in a plastic bag. And that's how you were one day found in front of Medward, and then they sewed you back together or something."

Chopped up? In pieces? His ears are playing tricks on him. This can't be true.

The man sits on the bed next to him. There is a nigger lying there, deep asleep.

"Medward?"

"Yeah, man, I told you about it a few nights ago. You are in Oz, hell's version at least, and before you ask, yeah man, you are pretty much dead."

Then those wops did kill him. But how is this…

"I don't belong in Oz."

The spic laughs. "Oh, if you didn't, you wouldn't be here, would you?"


	4. Chapter 4: Hank Schillinger

**Chapter 4. Hank Schillinger Shows Himself Out**

Walking used to be easier, he thinks as he places one foot in front of the other, slowly making his way from one row of beds to the opposite. The spic is watching, a grin on his face. Fucker.

"You'd be surprised how many need to practice walking again after all the time they spent lying in their beds," he starts. Hank ignores him.

"Some even need some time to remember their name, or how to speak. Especially those with head-wounds."

As if Hank gave a shit.

"You remember your name?"

"Of course I do. I'm Hank Schillinger." Finally he has reached the opposite bed-frame. Now it's time to go back. Carefully.

"Damn, when I woke up here I didn't have clue about anything. It was as if everything in my head was mush. Well, some of it sure was when that asshole cracked it on the tiles in the bathroom." The spic laughs. Hank just wishes he'd stop talking.

"It took me like three months until I knew everything again. Name's Jaime Velez, by the way."

Hank was not going to greet him. He really couldn't care less about spic-nurse's name.

But maybe he could give him some answers to questions he does care about. "What exactly is this place anyway?"

"I already told you, it's Medward in Oz. It's where the new inmates always show up. Usually at night, when nobody's looking. It's like… I've never seen the guy who brings the supplies either, they are just… there."

There are many weird things, anyway. Sometimes I think this building… is alive or something. I don't know. It seems to grow on its own. And you can't leave. Even if you make it out of the door, you just end up somewhere inside Oz again. It's like… magic or something. Well, I guess since it's hell and stuff…"

Now that's something Hank won't believe. This guy is fucking nuts. He has to be.

"You'll see it soon for yourself anyway."

"I won't. Moment I'm fine again, I'll be outta here. I don't belong here."

* * *

He never noticed it before - mainly because he was always deep asleep by the time it happened - but they got restrained to their beds every night. The leather straps were tight around his feet and hands, but did not cut off circulation.

Of course he didn't want the spic to fasten them on him, but when the other guy came - the El Cid guy - to hold him down and twist his arms, he didn't have much of a choice there. Jaime said it was 'for his own good' whatever that meant. As if Hank's some crazy dude or something. They should strap those spics down, not him.

But now that he lies here, in the dark, he starts doubting the crazy-theory. He could swear that there was something standing at the foot of his bed. And it was looking.

He stares a little longer into the darkness, trying to make it out. After a while, there seem to be some faint shapes. A dim glowing.

And then Gary Beecher is staring right at him, his stump stretched out for him to see.

Hank can't stop screaming.

* * *

A week later he's ready to leave. This dump here is almost as horrible as living in that damn shack in the middle of nowhere somewhere in Florida. Then again, at least there he had some of his stuff until he used it all up. But while this Jaime liked to share his thoughts, he wasn't so generous when it came to the more desirable things - like morphine.

Damn spic, Dad was right about them. Greedy little fuckers. The asshat probably takes all the good stuff for himself, that's why he's talking so much shit.

Hank has finally figured it out. He's been injured, and he's in a hospital, and his roomie is a loony who likes to play nurse and steals his morphine, only to then feed stupid stories about Oz and Hell and whatnot to him.

He's glad that he'll be outta here soon. First thing he'll do is get himself another fix.

* * *

The hospital seems kind of stuffed- not like those big ones you see in the movies where's so much space, so many rooms. There are many beds in his room - most of them are occupied with sleeping people who never seem to wake up.

The door is not locked. He pushes it open, steps into a wide corridor.

"You incompetent idiot, can't you do anything right?! I told you to not do it this way at least a hundred times, and what do you do?!"

The voice of a woman he has come to learn of and fear as Nurse Grace rings through the walls. It's coming from further down the large corridor. Maybe he'll try the smaller one.

But there she steps out, some linen in her hands, when she spots him. "You! If you are ready to lurk around here, then you are ready to discharge! No way you stay here, living the high life and make more work for me!"

"I'm…"

"Go down the hallway, then turn right, down the hallway, last door on the right."

He doesn't bother answering her. It's not that he doesn't want to leave this place as soon as possible, and there is nothing he owns that he might want to collect before leaving. So he follows her instructions - this place is huge - until he stands before the slightly opened door.

He can hear people speaking inside.

"Yeah, so you know about that thing with the anthrax? Yeah, so they cleaned up the place and then we returned, but there was like a lot of dust where they didn't have to clean, so we had to do that shit. Yeah, so I go there, and I stand on this ladder, and then suddenly I slip, fall down and break my neck."

"Hm, yeah, sad story, man, I feel you with the neck thing."

"Yeah, whatever, so McManus somehow managed to keep his job even though everyone said he'd be gone in a month, Querns is a jerk like always but tits-trade is running smoothly, the Governor didn't make it in the re-elections and what else…"

"How's El Norte?"

"Didn't hear much about them, don't know if they're still around. But there's this one latino gay guy… sells those D-Tabs, they are damn popular now."

"Hm, well… I guess you'll wanna be with the homeboys?"

"Sure, man. Is Adebisi there, too?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Where else would that guy be."

"Cool, never thought I'd see that nigger again."

Then laughing. Some words of goodbye, then some fat nigger leaves the room without sparing Hank a glance.

Hank keeps standing in front of the door, awkwardly. Everyone keeps telling him he's dead, and now that weird conversation… what if it's true? If this really is hell?

Will he ever get a shot again?

"Why can't these people shut the door after leaving my office?" And then some middle-aged spic stares at him. Even comes with a mustache. Yeehaw.

"You planning to come in here or are you lost on your way to the bathroom?"

"Nurse Grace said I am ready for discharge."

The spic does not answer, instead makes a move with his head, indicating for him to come in.

Once the man is sitting in front of the table again, pulling out a paper from a drawer, he finally looks up to him. "So, I need your name, and your affiliation. You can also state preferences where we put you."

Hank tries his best to stay calm, even though he's already explained this shit at least a hundred times for the last week. "I am not an inmate of Oz. This is a mistake, I don't belong here."

"Kid, did I grab into the wrong closet today and put on a black dress? Do I look like a judge to you? You are here, and my job is it to put you in one of the Cellblocks. I don't care where the hell you think you belong, fact is, you are in Oz, and I have to sort you. Yes, it's exactly like in Harry Potter, only I'm not a hat and you actually have to answer my questions because I can't read your mind, and honestly, I'm grateful for that one. So answer my damn questions. Name? And what Cellblock do you want to go to? We have one for the Latinos, but you can forget that one, the Homeboys, the queers, the Italians, the Irish, the Chinese, and so on. If you don't want to go to those, you can also get to Cellblock O, which is kind of like the collecting basin for everything without an affiliation."

Hank takes a deep breath. "Listen, you piece of shit wetbag. Do you understand American or do I have to get some spic-dictionary and translate it for you?" And then, loud and slowly: "I. Don't. Belong. In. Oz."

Strangely enough, the spic just stares, then smiles stupidly.

Finally: "Oh, excuse me, Sir, I'm horribly incompetent at this menial task I'm doing. Please go back to your bed, I'll sort it out for you."

Finally Hank was getting the treatment he was entitled to. Dad had been right - you just have to show those mongrels who's boss sometimes.

He left the office with a satisfied grin. First thing he is going to do when he leaves this dump - getting some nice heroine to celebrate.


	5. Chapter 5: Hank Schillinger

**Chapter 5. The Misadventures of Hank Schillinger in Oz**

Next time he hears from the spic - Jaime tells him he's called Enrique Morales and used to lead the Latinos in Oz when he was alive - it's through some fat spic called Juanes or something.

"Enrique says it's time for your discharge."

So Hank goes there and hopes that it works better than last time. But when he reaches the last door he spots a familiar face.

He can't believe it. Face black as a tar pit, tall and with a set of corn-rows. That fucker Curtis was the last thing Hank ever wanted to see.

Nigger does not move a muscle when Hank walks up to Enrique. Hank decides to ignore him, just focus on the spic.

"So, Pepe, I'm not saying it was nice meeting you, but good thing you finally got my discharge right. Took you long enough. Too much siesta, eh?"

But the spic does not pay any attention. Instead, he turns to this damn nigger.

"So you see, he's very annoying."

Curtis shrugs. How is this any of that fucker's business anyway?!

"I really don't care what happens to him, just get him out of my hair."

Curtis nods before looking in his direction. "Move it, kid."

"I ain't going with a fuckin' nigger! I told you to get me out of this fucking place, not to get me some monkey-buddy!"

But then the spic just grabs him and pushes him towards the door. "You will."

And then he crashes on the floor, Curtis steps before him and he hears the door crashing shut.

* * *

"You do notice the irony, do you?"

Curtis grins after moving his hand away from Hank's shoulder. It's not like Hank agreed to him putting it there in the first place - but that damn asshole is at least three heads bigger than him, and about twice as broad. So fuck it, Hank'll listen to what he has to say and once there's an opportunity make a dash for it.

"I'll probably just sell you to them aryans or something. It's not like you deserve that after renting out your girlfriend, but I don't want beef with anyone."

"YOU rented out my girlfriend, you stupid piece of shit nigger!" He does not want to think about it, really. Not think about her. It hurts him - somewhere deep inside, a feeling he can't describe. Maybe it's just detox. Maybe it's something else.

But when Curtis just shrugs without pushing the topic further, Hank is almost grateful.

* * *

After what seemed like a two hour walk through various hallways and some really huge hall, they arrived at some large-ass gates. "The Emerald City" stood in green letters on it and two niggers stood like guards in front of it. After some words he and Curtis were led in.

If outside seemed huge, this place was the hugest thing Hank had ever seen. And it was filled to the brim with niggers. They entered a huge hall. There were tables and chairs on the floor, and staircases that led to several levels that build up on the sides. There were no cells there - rather the living quarters seemed to be pods with glass walls.

Curtis led him up one of the staircases - going higher, he could overlook it better. There were at least a few hundred people there - all in varying degrees of black. Some were making snide remarks as they passed them - but Hank couldn't pay it any more attention. Entering this place seemed surreal. Many of the pods on the higher levels had curtains installed, preventing others from seeing what was inside.

Hank had grown up in a small town - biggest building he had entered in his childhood was the church they visited on Christmas, and compared to this the church was a dwarf. And when he moved to the city he was too occupied to take the view in.

He felt like an ant. A small, white ant in the midst of a huge colony of big black killer-bugs.

That's why he's almost grateful that Curtis finally pushed him into the pod and closed the door.

The pod isn't exactly big - but not too small either. There seemed to be a wall missing - must have been two pods once. There are thick, blue curtains hanging in front of the glass - the only light comes from a small lamp.

On the walls, there are huge shelves, like in a warehouse - only they are laid out with white sheets and there are people sleeping in it. When he takes a closer look he notices that some of them just stare - not at him, actually, just into nothingness, as if they were retards or something. He can't help but step up to one of them and poke him in the shoulder. No reaction.

"'Are you high?" He shakes the man - his age, looks like a wetbag to him - but there's nothing either. "Man, did I look this stupid when I was high?"

"They are not high, Curtis does not believe in drugs."

Hank turns around instantly, only to spot the first white face he's seen in ages - well, there was Nurse Grace, but she was more blood-thirsty vampire than human, so she didn't count.

"I'm Carl Jenkins, you can call me Carl. My job is it to take care of you guys here, so I'm going to take you to the showers and then you can change."

That's when Hank notices that he still wears that hospital-dress he woke up in. Great, he's been led through a herd of niggers in a dress.

* * *

Carl didn't exactly have to watch him showering, but at least Carl's not some three foot fat horny nigger or anything. The cotton-shirt and pants are actually comfortable, and with any luck he might get some shoes and then he'll be outta here so fast, those monkey's won't be able to say banana. Maybe Carl is their prisoner, too. They can escape to some white lawn together.

"So, how did you get here, Carl? Working for that nigger?"

"That's none of your business, I don't have all day. You stay in the pod with the other's until somebody gets you."

And then he just leaves. So much for white camaraderie.

* * *

"Move your ass, Schillinger."

Carl, pale skinny fucker he is, gets all commanding with his tone. Hank starts to hope that one of these niggers makes this brat eat his fucking words one day. Not that he ever cheered for niggers, but the hours he spent in that pod, next to all these brainfucked hussies, started to water an enormous dislike inside Hank.

Carl leads him to another pod next to theirs. There is a huge desk - looks expensive - with Curtis, looking not that expensive - sitting behind it. In the back he can make out a bunk-bed, and there is a carpet on the floor. Looks like one of those expensive one's from some sandnigger-country like Ghingistan or something.

There is a white man in the pod, too. He's a huge fucker - taller than his dad even - with broad shoulders and some weird beard-style, but his head's blank like a bowling-ball. Fucker is giving him an odd look - Hank can't stand it.

"What're you looking at, retard? You're so retarded, you don't even know where to grow your hair. Up here, fucker!" Hank draws circles by his head with a finger, rolling his eyes up.

Guy grins as if he's found a fucking penny. Hank is getting annoyed. "What is this shit, anyway?!"

"So you see, he's obviously annoying, but he's Schillinger's kid and I don't really want him, that's why I sell him cheap to you. You buy?"

"Sure, I missed having my own white prag," the retard shrugged. Wait, what? Nobody was going to fucking buy him!

"Hey, asshole!" But nobody listens to him.

* * *

Hank has always prided himself with being the smart one. Andrew was the dumb guy who did dumb shit like killing a nigger with his buddies by dragging him behind them in their car - in open daylight.

So Hank is the smart one, and that's why he went with the retard. Hank knew perfectly well that the asshole was a ticket out of this nigger-infested dump, and once the moment presents itself Hank is going to run for it. Somehow. Hank is going to make it, and then he'll have some sweet, sweet heroin.

They've passed a few of these signs already. There was one for a church, apparently. Wasn't there something like Sanctuary?

But he doubts that he'll ever find that sign again. They've passed some Cellblock F and Cellblock P already, and that was so many twists and turns and doors ago, there was no way he would find his way back there without a map. They pass Cellblock B after what feels like hours of marching, and apparently they still aren't there yet.

He's really getting tired. He wants a break, but retard just ignores him and moves on. He tries just sitting there, but then the asshole just pulls him up by the shirt and drags him behind him. It's no use, really. A part of him is giving up, and Hank hates it.

But he doesn't really know how to escape this, either. Hank never prayed a lot but now- now he does.

* * *

Eventually after at least a hundred other turns they open a small door with "to Cellblock A" written on it. There is a staircase leading down, into the dark. They reach a huge gate, black and looks like it's made of iron, and there are big letters fixed on it: The Iron Reich. On both sides of the writing there are iron swastikas, as well as on two flags standing next to the gate.

Sounds promising. At least this one has no guards, he thinks, and upon entering, he immediately notices the difference to The Emerald City. Whereas Emerald City seemed huge and wide-spaced, this here seemed cramped and constricting.

Here, there are no pods with glass walls, but each cell is made of three gray brickstone walls and a black iron gate to close it. There are bunk beds in most of them and there is rarely any other furniture. Further down he can see the same curtains that he saw in The Emerald City.

But no niggers. He can't believe it, but every bald head that they passed so far has been white. White is good. White means no nasty black surprises while showering.

They go further down the hallway - cells on each side - until Hank spots a familiar face. He can't believe his luck. Man, he really should try that praying-thing more often. Next time he'll ask for a sexy busty blond stripper and some Heroin.

"Mark!"

"Heeey, you're Schillinger's kid! Maaan, it's been a while since I've last seen you, you've grown! Last time you were such a squirt, now look at you, boy!"

Hank laughs. He's saved. Never has he been so glad to see Mark Mack.

"Yeah, cut the reunion-sap for later, we're going to my cell."

"Whatcha want in Cutler's cell, kiddo?"

"I bought him. And it's time to…"

"Wait a minute, here, Cutler… we don't fuck Vern's kid. That's his son, man. We don't do that stuff." Mark puts a hand on Hank's shoulder, and almost instinctively Hank moves closer to the other man.

The retard - Cutler - just stares at them.

"Thanks for bringing him here, Wolfgang. I'm sure once Vern shows up here he'll be grateful."

"Listen, Mack, I don't give a-"

"Yeah, yeah, we have a lot of talking to do, see ya later, Cutler!"

"See ya later" has never felt so good.


	6. Chapter 6: Christopher Keller

**Chapter 6. Christopher Keller's Hell**

Keller always knew he'd end up in hell. He didn't expect it to be like this. The voice - Toby's voice - doesn't leave his ear.

He presses his eyelids together, doing his best to twist the hateful words into something more pleasant in his mind.

The human mind is a wonderful thing, but… It doesn't work.

To be fair, it's hard to twist "I hope Keller rots in hell for all eternity" into a declaration of love.

But that's what he gets these days. He'd rather switch to the Bonnie-channel, but that's the thing about hell.

You don't just switch channels in hell.

It's been many nights since Keller has last slept. Every time he begins drifting off into blissful oblivion, Beecher's hateful words grow louder, louder….

A whimper escapes his throat after an especially vicious curse. "No, you don't mean that, love. Every horrible thing I did, I did for you. Don't you see? I couldn't live without you."

"Oh quit your bitching, just cuz you can't sleep, doesn't mean I shouldn't either."

Of course Barlog can't understand.

Keller does not know when exactly he's started sobbing, but all the restraint, all the poise he had in life is all but a shadow now. Nobody understands his pain. Not in life, not in death.

"Beech, you really don't mean that. YOU LOVE ME. You can't ever stop loving me.

Nobody knows. All his life, Chris had felt misunderstood. Nobody ever sees him, much less hears him. That was all he ever wanted. Really.

Nobody knows how rough he really had it, underneath his cool exterior… nobody knows… his pain, sorrow, shame...the demons eating him away. Little by little, life had broken him down. Until finally, nothing but hate was left. The roaring storm inside him that only Tobe could soothe - well, and every other vulnerable, broken person he had manipulated to see past his faults and love him unconditionally in life. But unconditional love and worship… That was all he ever wanted. Was it too much to ask for?

Ronnie. He eyes the bulge above him. There's still him. It will do as a consolation.

He can offer to massage his stiff neck. Then again, maybe it was too early for that one.

No, Tobe is the one he wants. The one he has to have.

If only he could do something to win him back again. But that's another thing about hell. When you are stuck in here, you can't do shit in the living world.

Keller curls himself into a tight ball, trying to shift his thoughts on to something else.

He can hear Barlog snore softly above.

Yes, think of Barlog. Barlog has nice eyes. Keller likes it, when Barlog's on his knees, Keller's cock in his mouth, looking up to him with those blue…

"I should have never forgiven Keller in the first place. No normal guy breaks your bones and then says he loves you. Hell, no normal guy rapes, tortures and kills three guys just like that. No blowjob is worth that, not even in this hellhole."

Great, just when Keller is about to get hard the Beecher channel is on air again.

"If it wasn't for Keller I'd be eating steak right now instead of those lousy nuggets. Damn him, damn his soul to hell."

Way to kill the mood, Beechball, way to kill the mood.

There is nothing now but to wait for oblivion. Yeah. Oblivion. Fat chance of that happening.


End file.
